Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe had one of the largest homes on Collins Street, by virtue of her late husband's iron ore fortune. The house was built of creamy sandstone, wrapped by verandahs and intricate white iron lacework on both levels, spreading over the largest block of land on Collins Street. Evangeline had always wanted to see inside and held her breath as they stepped into the foyer.
Wooden floors gleamed underneath an enormous chandelier with arms like a jewelled octopus. The afternoon light streamed through a white stained-glass panel with red and green accents. A carved balustrade staircase led upstairs, lined with dark, sour-faced portraits.
"My, isn't it grand?" Augie clutched his hand to his heart.
Evangeline nodded but a shiver ran up her spine. The foyer reminded her of the home of the Alchemist, Lady Breckenridge-Rice. Her last memory of the house involved a raging fire and a moment when she feared for her own life.
"This way, please."
The butler opened a set of double doors at the edge of the grand foyer. Evangeline and her chaperones stepped inside the ballroom, with its gleaming floors and rich oriental carpets, four times the size of even the most generous room at her house at 56 Collins Street.
"Professor Montague Caldicott, Mr. Edmund Caldicott, Miss Evangeline Caldicott and Mr. August Beauchamp, ma'am," the butler proclaimed and they stepped inside the ballroom.
Evangeline scoured the room. Thirty or more grey moustachioed men and generously bosomed ladies mingled, sipping sherry and anxiously awaiting the unveiling. Disappointingly, Evangeline was by far the youngest guest in the room. Where were all the other young ladies interested in dead bodies? She couldn't possibly be the only one in Melbourne. How dull.
She spied a large box at the end of the room on a small stage. There it was, the sarcophagus shipped all the way from Egypt to Melbourne.
"Thank you, Farlow. Why Professor Caldicott, what a pleasure to see you." Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe was a woman of indeterminate age. Her heather-purple silk dress was ruffled and bustled in a passé style, her cloud grey hair piled with pinned ringlets. "I am so glad you could attend my little soiree."
The crepe-skinned woman, glittering with gems, held out her hand for the Professor to kiss. An acorn-sized sapphire sparkled on her gloved hand.
"I would not miss this event for the world." The Professor reached out with his clockwork right hand, taking his hostess's hand gently. "May I introduce my daughter, Evangeline."
"Miss Evangeline, I see we share an appreciation of purple." Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe gently patted Evangeline's forearm. "Although you look far more lovely in the shade than I."
Augie skilfully interjected. "You are far too modest, Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe. You are an absolute vision. I was only remarking to Edmund yesterday how vibrant you look. You must tell us your secret. Or is it too naughty?"
"Oh Augie, you devilish man." She playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "I am glad you are all here. Please partake of some refreshments. We shall begin with the unveiling soon."
Footmen appeared with silver trays laden with glasses of sherry and chocolate covered cream puffs on tiny porcelain plates. Evangeline politely refused.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" Uncle Edmund teased. "Evangeline Caldicott refusing a pastry? Are you unwell, my dear?"
"I'm far too excited to eat. When are they going to unwrap the body? What do you think it will look like? Like a prune? I once saw a mummified cat. It was all yellow like a husk."
"Evangeline!" hissed Augie with a frantic glance around the room. Uncle Edmund guffawed into his sherry.
The doors opened again and three more people entered.
"I didn't think she would be invited to this," Augie whispered. Edmund nodded.
A hush settled across the room as the new guests arrived and people whispered behind their gloves and hands. The woman was tall and statuesque with golden hair, a dress of deep scarlet with a matching Spanish lace hat. She strode into the room as though this party was her own. Two pale men tagged along behind her like little lambs.
"Who is it?" Evangeline asked.
"Madame Zsoldas. But don't stare."
Evangeline sighed. How could she not look? This was her first chance to inspect the infamous spiritualist.
"Mr. Beauchamp. How pleasant to see you again," Madame Zsoldas said with a thick Eastern European accent. Her eyes were hard and tawny like a lion. Her lips painted with a strong stripe of scarlet.
"Madame Zsoldas." Augie bowed slightly as she kept walking, slithering through the crowd.
"I didn't know you were acquainted," Uncle Edmund hissed.
Augie shrugged. "I know many people around town."
Edmund eyed him dubiously, but then, as the manager of the Prince Albert Theatre, Uncle Augie knew everyone there was to know in Melbourne.
"Frightful woman," the Professor said with a tut.
Edmund raised an eyebrow and smirked at his brother. "Oh yes. It was her, wasn't it? If only I'd been there..."
The spiritualist in scarlet headed towards the stage and Evangeline watched her every step. Then, with a knowing smile, the woman swivelled around and stared straight back. Evangeline's stomach tumbled and she immediately dropped her eyes. Perhaps all the stories about Madame Zsoldas were true.
A sarcophagus and a notorious spiritualist, two mysteries already and it was barely three o’clock. Today was turning out rather marvellous.
Chapter 2
A dessert fork tinkled against a glass. The Caldicotts and all the other guests stopped their cordial chit-chat and turned.
"Welcome, friends, to my humble home." Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe stood on the low stage at the front of the room. The guests closed in, politely manoeuvring for the best vantage point.
"I'm so thrilled you could all join me on this special occasion. My nephew Jocelyn is a mad keen explorer and Egyptologist. I've been haranguing him for simply years to send me a mummy from one of his expeditions. And he has finally obliged. This sarcophagus arrived last week by special dirigible, and I am pleased to be able to share this exciting historic event with you all."
The clay sarcophagus was decorated with faded pictograms, and terracotta and blue-green scribbles. A face with kohl-rimmed eyes and long black hair was painted on the outside, arms folded across his chest.
"And this afternoon, we are privileged to be joined by the Eminent Professor of Archaeology from the University of Sydney, Professor Walbottle."
A short balding man stiffly bowed.
"Professor Walbottle has travelled to Melbourne especially for this afternoon's unwrapping soiree and will be providing a commentary on the activities. Thank you for making the long journey, and we look forward to your enlightening lecture."
Evangeline wished the dull speeches would end and they would hurry up with the unravelling. The mummy unveiling was the most exciting thing to happen to Evangeline in at least a month. In recent weeks, life at 56 Collins Street had been rather dull. No monsters or anything.
"This mummy comes from the tomb of Pharaoh Al-hai-ti-po. My research suggests this is one of his lesser nobles..."
"I told you," whispered the Professor. "Nobody special."
"The Pharaoh is now proudly on display in the British Museum." Walbottle had a feeble expressionless tone, the type of voice which sent Evangeline immediately to sleep. She pitied his university students.
"Now, you may have heard some stories about mummies..."
Evangeline perked up immediately. He was finally getting to the interesting part.
"But we're all educated people here, living in a time of great scientific discoveries," he said, with a drone. "I hope we are all enlightened beyond that superstitious nonsense."
Evangeline narrowed her eyes. She could tell Walbottle a story or two. The world was a strange and unusual place, even here in Melbourne. One must keep an open mind.
"What makes this interesting is the evolution of the mummification process. This specimen comes from a period of transition from fats to b
eeswax and other resins for..."
Evangeline rolled her eyes and gazed around the room, smirking behind her glove as she caught other guests yawning. Then she locked eyes with Madame Zsoldas once again. The spiritualist stared directly at her with an intense curiosity. What had Evangeline done to attract her attention? They had not even been introduced.
"We shall now begin the unveiling," Walbottle said.
Two footmen stepped forward. One pulled a lever. There was a hiss of steam and a pneumatic elevator lifted the clay sarcophagus upright.
The Professor tutted under his breath.
"When will people realise the dangers of steam? I know he's an archaeologist, but I would have thought a fellow Professor would have more sense."
Evangeline said nothing. She knew her father's loyalties lay with the horological arts, but she thought the elevator looked rather useful.
Once the mummy was upright, the two footmen began cracking the sealed lid with crowbars. The lid slid open with a harsh grinding noise, and Evangeline and the rest of the room held their breath.
The lid of the sarcophagus slid open and all the guests oohed and aahed. Inside the clay box stood a tall figure, wrapped from head to toe in yellowed bandages.
"As you can see, the specimen is not encased in a wooden box. This means he was not of the richer classes," said Professor Walbottle.
"Our mummy is some old riffraff?" Augie huffed. "How uncivilised."
Walbottle and the footmen gently freed the body from the coffin, leaning him against a stand.
"A real mummy," Evangeline said to her father with a grin, her eyes as round as clock faces.
"Remarkable. Interred for more than a thousand years." The Professor leaned forward, re-positioning his pince-nez, and, with a few clicks, he adjusted his patent-pending magnifying lenses. Augie, the traditionalist, peered through a pair of brass opera glasses.
"I read a mummy is wrapped like a game of pass the parcel," Evangeline said. "There are hidden treats under every layer of bandage."
Walbottle held up his hand for quiet. "We have found the end of the swathing. We will now begin."
The footman carefully lifted up the first section of bandage with a set of tongs and started unrolling from the mummy's waist.
"My, what a pong!" Augie exclaimed, fanning his face.
As the bandages unfurled, a foul odour spread across the room. The stench of thousand-year-old rotten flesh growing stronger and stronger. The smell was reminiscent of the Melbourne streets after three or four days of baking summer heat. Evangeline gasped and scrambled for her lavender-scented handkerchief, Edmund coughed discreetly and the Professor pinched his nose. In the corner, a rotund lady in coral pink swooned and dropped to the floor with a thud. Footmen swarmed from all directions, armed with smelling salts and cushions.
Walbottle cleared his throat. "There appears to be a problem with the mummification. This... err... scent is highly unusual."
Augie pursed his lips as he dabbed his eyes. "Not only a nobody but a malodorous nobody."
The two footmen unrolled reams of yellowed bandage from the body, the tape pooling in a bundle at its feet. Despite the evil stench, Evangeline's excitement heightened as each layer peeled away. Some of the other ladies hid behind their gloved hands and fans, but Evangeline craned forward to catch the first glimpse of what remained of the mummy's flesh.
"I sense a presence," Madame Zsoldas called out across the room in a loud clear voice.
All the guests turned to stare.
"A dark presence in the room," she said with her rolling 'r's, her hands raised to the ceiling.
Evangeline glanced around, hoping to see a grey fog creeping along the wainscoting. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Only a group of well-dressed guests wanting to see a mummy.
"Nonsense," muttered the Professor.
"It is strong. It is calling to me." Madame Zsoldas stepped forward with one hand gracing her forehead, the other hand outstretched, reaching out for something unseen.
"Is it the mummy?" cried Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe.
"I can taste sulphur."
"The devil," someone hissed.
"Only the horrid smell of a botched dead Egyptian," scoffed the Professor. "We can all smell it."
"The presence is growing stronger."
"Perhaps we should stop the unravelling?" Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe hurried over to Madame Zsoldas. The spiritualist stared out across the room with her unseeing eyes, ignoring the host. "Is this a warning to stop? Is it dangerous?"
Madame Zsoldas broke from her trance and touched Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe on the shoulder.
"All I see is darkness. All I feel is suffering."
"Maybe the stories were right. I should have known," Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe wailed. "I couldn't bear to bring any misfortune to my friends."
"Poppycock," called out the Professor, a little too loudly.
"Monty." Uncle Augie frowned, always the etiquette master.
"Don't tell me to be quiet, Augie. This is outrageous. This charlatan is spoiling this important scientific event with her mumbo-jumbo."
"Madame Zsoldas is a well respected spiritual healer. She is welcome in my home and her advice is appreciated," Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said defiantly, glaring back at the Professor from her place by the stage.
"Respected," guffawed the Professor. "If only I'd brought my atervis detector. I'd show you all."
Evangeline watched with her mouth agape. Ordinarily, she was the one causing a scene. Watching her father's performance, she wondered if perhaps the trouble-making trait was hereditary.
"Monty. Please respect our host." Augie took the Professor's elbow with a conciliatory smile to the rest of the room. "We know you're anxious to see the body..."
"Well, get on with it." The Professor tugged his arm away from Augie's grasp. "We haven't got all afternoon."
"What do you think I should do?" Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe turned to Madame Zsoldas, her face flushed red.
Everyone else was distracted by the unfolding fuss, lapping up the gossip, even Walbottle and the footmen stopped tugging at the bandages to watch. Only Evangeline seemed to notice a movement on the stage. It was the mummy. It was moving. It was lurching forward right into the path of Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe. Evangeline gasped.
Somebody should do something.
Chapter 3
Evangeline hurtled forward, cartwheeling towards the stage in a flash of lavender satin. She bounced onto the stage and, with a kick, sent the mummy flying backwards. Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe squealed and the room was filled with gasps. The mummy came crashing down, right on top of Walbottle, knocking him over and pinning him to the ground.
"Get it off me," whined Walbottle. His legs and arms flailing.
But rather than helping the archaeologist, Evangeline found herself frozen to the spot, distracted by a rather peculiar feeling in her feet. Something vague but particularly odd.
"Miss Evangeline. Thank you ever so much," Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said, her hands clasped against her chest, and a small round of applause broke out.
Forgetting about her feet, Evangeline smoothed back her hair and dropped into a dramatic deep curtsey. Then she stepped off the stage and joined her family in the crowd once more. Although not everyone was as impressed, Augie’s lips were pursed as tight as a footman’s breeches.
"I thought the mummy was attacking her," Evangeline said with a shrug. “It’s only polite to help.”
"Are you hurt, Professor?" Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said as the footmen hoisted the stiff body off Walbottle and replaced it on the stand.
"Perfectly fine." Walbottle dusted himself off with a thunderous look on his face.
"This is all too risky," Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said with a wobble in her voice. "Who knows what evil lies beneath those bandages. What do you think, Professor Walbottle?"
"It's completely safe," he said in between large gulps of sherry. "No need to panic. The footmen must have knocked the body over."
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"I don't know." Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe shook her head. "My nephew knew Dougal Mendlesham. Some of you may have heard the stories. Within a week of bringing a mummy from the tombs of Luxor to his home in Berkshire, he shot off his own arm. Claimed it had turned evil with a mind of its own. His arm was planning to butcher the audience at the next village amateur dramatics society production. The curse of the mummy. I would be terribly upset if something rotten happened to one of my guests here tonight."
"Listen to the educated expert. Not this swindler," said Evangeline's father.
"Madame Zsoldas?" Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said.
"I can still feel a strong presence. There is something strange here within this room. Like a black cloud."
Evangeline furrowed her brow. She felt something too, but it was ever so faint, nothing like Madame Zsoldas's description. So faint, she may have been imagining it.
"Too risky," Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said. "Who knows what devilish spells were cast by the Pharaohs. Madame Zsoldas, you've convinced me. I must be cautious for the sake of my guests. We should stop right here."
The Professor groaned.
"Knickers," Evangeline said under her breath.
"I am sorry to disappoint you but it is for your own safety," Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe said. "I will not unwrap the mummy any further. Professor Walbottle, please place him back into his sarcophagus. Bring out the steam-organ, Farlow. Miss Sparkwell, could I bother you to play a little recital for everyone to lighten the mood?"
"This is ridiculous," said the Professor, puffing out his chest like a pigeon.
"This is my decision, Professor Caldicott. You are welcome to stay for more refreshments. But not if you continue to be so rude to my guests."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe, but I will not pander to this mountebank. Ludicrous," the Professor humphed, taking Evangeline by the arm. "We're leaving."
The Antics of Evangeline: Collection 1: Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne Page 15
